


Notice me three times

by ahoidraco



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Co-workers, Drabble Collection, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Era, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Small Hermione Granger, Tall Draco Malfoy, but also fluff, don't do it kids, getting drunk together to solve issues, pretty much from fourth year to post-Hogwarts, time jumps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:00:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26621035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahoidraco/pseuds/ahoidraco
Summary: Draco can determine the specific moments in their shared history in which he starts to see beyond Hermione Granger's blood and Hogwarts house.Hermione determines them in the present.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 18
Kudos: 226





	1. Draco

**I**

The first time Draco considered Hermione Granger with anything but contempt, she walked into an impressively decorated Great Hall during their fourth year. The whole school and most of their international guests were already enjoying the festivities of the Yule Ball when the three Triwizard Champions (and, well, Potter) walked in, their respective dates at their arms.

It took Draco a second to recognise the petite girl with the even features and voluminous curls next to Viktor Krum’s broad frame and he took even longer to tear his gaze away from her – so long, in fact, Pansy started to hiss ugly insults at Granger, who seemed positively shell-shocked by the reactions to her appearance. The blush on her cheeks had gone from barely there to unmissable on her way from the winged doors to the Champions’ table.

Ignoring Pansy, Draco scrutinised Granger as she walked past them, her eyes conveniently passing over the group of Slytherins near the entrance. As his eyes reluctantly followed her backside through the hall, Draco couldn’t help but come to the conclusion that she received more attention than the world-famous Quidditch player at her side and wondered if she realised it too.

Her dress robes fit her perfectly, its light blue colour highlighted her remaining summer tan. And what had happened to her hair? It wasn’t its bushy self, usually almost its own chaotic entity on Granger’s head. Tonight, it was sleek and falling in effortless waves.

To Draco, however, her most striking feature was her tiny torso. He, Blaise and Theo had spent hours in their dormitory, discussing bouncy breasts as if any of them had ever seen a pair in action at age fourteen. They had agreed that tits had to be firm but large, too large for their tiny, greedy hands to grasp. They had also agreed that all women had to have, in addition to their large breasts, firm bellies, small waists and tight arses. They had agreed that this was the only body type fit for the girlfriend of an offspring of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. They had also agreed that Granger was – her unfit blood, ridiculous hair and overall swotty demeanour aside – too scrawny to even be considered by them in their _very_ mature talks.

Pansy, whose large chest had been discussed by the three boys at length, cleared her throat on his arm but Draco ignored her, mesmerised by Granger’s waist in its stark contrast to Krum’s torso. He wondered if his hands could fit around her midriff almost completely and how it would feel to run his thumbs across the undersides of her breasts in the process. One quick look at Krum’s large hands told him that it was most likely possible for the Triwizard Champion and something inside him twitched. For the first time in his life, Draco suddenly became aware of just how small he was in comparison to others.

Draco snarled and looked away, focusing intently on Pansy’s low-cut décolleté as they went to the banquet.

**II**

Draco actively noticed Hermione Granger’s considerably petite frame for the second time just after he was appointed to Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad. Detaining Granger and Potter in Umbridge’s office elated him and Umbridge – disgusting as she was – now regarded him, Crabbe and Bulstrode with something almost reminiscent of approval.

Draco knew that the old hag would send out letters of approval to their parents tomorrow, but it mattered surprisingly little to him in this moment, when he watched Umbridge pull Potter out of her fireplace forcefully.

What mattered to him was that he suddenly had his right hand on Granger’s mouth to keep her from shouting, and the other hand around her shoulders, which barely reached up to his chest.

Draco knew the restraint was uncomfortable for her. He kept her in place tightly, pressing his fingers into her slender shoulder and carefully – not too obviously – pulling her much smaller figure into his torso.

This was solely for detainment purposes, he repeated in his head again and again, as he consciously felt her back against his front, her shoulder blades near his chest.

The way the top of her bushy hair scratched his chin was highly annoying and only acceptable for detainment purposes, he maintained.

Her vehement wriggling to get out of his grip was irritating and nothing else, he told himself and his treacherous dick, who immensely enjoyed the feel of her moist lips against his one hand, and the slow tremble of her shoulder against his other.

Most importantly, however, he tried to ignore the smell of her. She smelled like the library, but fresher, like a morning day in March, when there would sometimes still be snow, and spring could be sensed on other days. Parchment and ink mixed with fresh grass and a hint of lemon.

A few months later, Draco would vehemently ignore that he still remembered those scents when they studied Amortentia in Potions class.

**III**

The third time Draco took note of how small Hermione Granger was, his aunt tortured her in his home.

Not identifying her and her two friends in front of his family had not been enough, of course. Draco had stalled with a small hope that the decision to call the Dark Lord was adjourned. But Bellatrix’s hunger to hurt had radiated from her when she had seen Granger.

His aunt’s mere presence was usually enough to unnerve Draco, but the thought of the imminent arrival of the Dark Lord, a murderous Bellatrix and Granger lying on his floor was enough for him to feel his insides twisting and squirming.

Draco looked at the floor as Granger screamed. Everything had gone blurry. She was lying _just over there_ and Bellatrix laughed maniacally as she sent _Crucio_ after _Crucio_ at the small frame, who shook violently with every curse.

Every scream sent a shock wave through his body as he tried, and failed, to use Occlumency, to temporarily forget that she was here, not just in the Manor, but in the parlour, on the floor, with his manic aunt standing over her, screaming something about a sword. He wished they hadn’t triggered the taboo, hadn’t been caught, and by Greyback of all snatchers.

Draco desperately wished for himself to be a little more like the girl in front of him – or even her friends – brave enough to make lasting decisions, to offer himself instead of someone else.

But it appeared he was, after all, a coward who had felt a small sense of victory when he had acted unsure in front of his parents at the sight of Potter on their doorstep. A coward who didn’t even manage to run away when his classmate was tortured in front of him – who barely managed to stare at the marble tiles in front of him, focusing on little else but their pattern. A coward who wished for nothing else but to feel numbness at least. A coward who surely didn’t have the spine to stand up for the girl in front of him, shaking and screaming and still not budging.

Instead of the soothing numbness Occlumency provided for him, he was feeling as if he watched the scene from above, an out-of-body experience.

Oddly, he was even more fascinated with Granger at this moment, than he had ever been. Draco was disgusted with himself as her winding reminded him of the one time he had held her close, in Umbridge’s office.

Everything had seemed so much more like child play then, although he had taken himself and the Inquisitorial Squad quite seriously at the time. Her hair had been so nice so close to him, and he had been ashamed to admit it even before himself. In his strange, out-of-body state, he briefly wondered if she still managed to keep the smell of parchment and citrus while on the run.

“We only met him tonight!” He heard her sobbing, pleading. Draco desperately focused to stare on the marble tiles, not into her face, which was still framed by a ridiculous amount of locks. “We’ve never been inside your vault … it isn’t the real sword! It’s a copy, just a copy!”

Bellatrix was shouting at her again, and then Father was addressing him.

He must’ve looked at the older version of himself with a blank expression, because Father snorted angrily, repeated himself and the next thing Draco realised was him walking down the stairs to the dungeons, with the faint memory of an order to fetch the goblin.

It was dark and Draco didn’t bother to light up the torches, instead, the cast a faint _Lumos_. The almost-darkness sharpened his other senses, which he cherished for a second after the previous numbness, before hearing another of Granger’s guttural screams. Down here, with no other sounds around him, it seemed even louder than it had in the parlour.

Draco stopped before the door, breathing heavily. Everything was spinning, but he mustn’t show weakness before the prisoners – before Potter. Briefly, he leaned against the door, before he spoke.

“Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you!”

His voice was cracking, he didn’t believe himself for one instant. He hoped no one could hear the shaking in his voice.

Breathing in deeply one last time, he collected every last bit of confidence he could muster and pushed the door open much harder than necessary, striding as much as he could, and grabbing the goblin without looking at any of the other prisoners.

He had never imagined it like this.

Not turning his back on them, his wand raised, Draco retreated, pulling Griphook with him.

The second the door slammed shut, he started sprinting up the stairs with the goblin stumbling before him. He ignored the strange _crack_ he heard from below.

Granger was not screaming anymore, and he wondered if things had gotten even worse.

The second he opened the door to the parlour, pushing Griphook through first, Granger started screaming even louder, and Draco couldn’t avert his eyes this time.

Bellatrix was bent over the girl, cackling constantly, chanting incoherent half-sentences about the Dark Lord. Her wand was in her left hand but seemed almost forgotten.

Frantically, Draco pushed the goblin towards his father as his eyes roamed Granger and his aunt. When he saw what Bellatrix was holding in her right, Draco’s stopped breathing.

Greedily grabbing the sobbing Granger, Bellatrix carved something in her left arm. After the initial scream, Granger had become eerily quiet, with irregular whimpers that shook her whole body. Bellatrix apparently to press her into the cold marble, the shudders seemed to erupt in Granger’s core, but they never reached her left side.

Draco faintly registered that Father was shouting something in his direction again, as he watched the madwoman he called his aunt carve cut after cut into Hermione Granger’s arm. He wanted nothing more than to look away, or even better, leave the room. Take her with him, even.

After what seemed like years, Bellatrix finally let go of Granger and turned towards the goblin. Draco still couldn’t tear his gaze away from Granger, now forgotten to the Death Eaters in the room; he barely registered his father pushing Griphook towards Bellatrix, the goblin shrinking with every step.

Hermione was still whimpering faintly, the blood from her arm and the crook of her neck pooling on the floor. Her face was tear-stained, but no new tears were running. She was staring into the ceiling.

For a second, Draco wondered if he would be able to convey his own pain and allyship to her if only she looked, but he quickly realised that there would be absolutely no way she would trust him and he was a fool for even thinking about it. He had just stood and watched her being tortured – empathy would be the same as outright mockery at this moment.

His chest had never felt tighter.

Then the only thing that could possibly distract him from Granger happened – his mark started to burn. He whirled towards Bellatrix who now pressed her spider-like fingers against her own mark, grinning manically again.

In a panic, he realised that Bellatrix’s wide eyes roamed the room, landing on Granger once more.

“And I think we can dispose of the Mudblood,” she said, her grin rather lopsided. In these moments of absolute cruelty, Bellatrix’s former beauty sometimes shone through, Draco thought, his heartbeat at the absolute maximum. “Greyback, take her if you want her.”

_No!_

Again, Draco whirled in shock, looking for the werewolf he had almost forgotten until now. Greyback snarled greedily and approached Granger.

Draco’s hands frantically searched for his wand.

_No, not her, not her!_

And then everything went down in chaos as Potter and Weasley stormed into the parlour.

The next seconds were a mere blur to Draco; one second, he was collecting wands at Bellatrix’s order, the next he was tackled by Potter who stupefied Greyback.

Draco’s thoughts swirled and swirled while it happened, his gaze still mostly on Granger, his thoughts on how, for a second, he thought he could save her, but in the end, he was only a lackey of his relatives and a madman with a giant snake.

Draco felt lost.

And at the moment the three Gryffindors disappeared with the Malfoys’ old house elf, Draco realised that Hermione Granger, the small girl who survived the torture of one of the cruellest witches alive, who most probably lied to the mad witch in the process, was truly glorious.

She was larger than life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been first posted on my tumblr [dhrdrabbles](https://dhrdrabbles.tumblr.com/) and has since been revisited by me, but not betaed. Any mistakes are mine.  
> The idea once crossed my mind for a fest I eventually didn't participate in, but I liked the plunny nonetheless so here we are. The second chapter will follow shortly.  
> I hope you like and love to hear what you think.  
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Hermione I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were here before, you might have noticed that the number of overall chapters has changed. I initially wanted to split this evenly between three parts (in one chapter) of Draco and three more parts from Hermione's perspective in the other chapter. The overall segmentation stands, but Hermione's parts decided to become much longer than anticipated.  
> Also, yet another thing the keen eye might have already spotted is that I changed the Rating from M to E. So I decided to physically separate the E-rated parts from the rest if anyone who is opposed to E-rated fics (yeah ... I know it's probably a futile undertaking, haha) can still enjoy the rest without a random E-rated scene appearing. Thus: this chapter is still fine to read! Nothing explicit here, just some good old fluff for a change!

**IV**

The first time Hermione saw Draco Malfoy after the Battle of Hogwarts was at his trial.

While most Death Eaters were put on short trial – sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban – the Malfoys, among others, were put on trial for potentially days on end. A whole week was scheduled for the family, cruelly overlapping with Draco’s 18th birthday. Harry was to testify on behalf of Narcissa and Draco. Hermione had prepared testimony for Draco, as she saw no need to add to Harry’s testimony for Narcissa, which would likely be key to release her anyway. But she had made one resolution as it became clear that the Golden Trio, as the _Prophet_ now dubbed them, were to testify in any trial they wished: No classmate of hers was going to prison on her watch.

In the first week of June, Ron was notably absent in the courtroom after their fallout over hers and Harry’s engagement with the Malfoys’ sentence.

Hermione watched Lucius, a shadow of his former arrogant self, as he tried to worm his way out of his actions, relying heavily on his lack of engagement during the Final Battle and on the threat of having Voldemort in his house. He was sentenced to 30 years in Azkaban after two long and tiring days before the Wizengamot, but Narcissa was released as expected after a few short hours, around midday the next day. She left the hearing room with her head held high, shortly nodding towards Harry, but her face was hollow, her gaze was trained on the door. Hermione thought she saw her hands trembling slightly.

“She could be more grateful”, Ginny observed coldly in between Harry and Hermione.

“Draco’s next”, was Harry’s even reply. As Hermione turned away from Narcissa to face them, she saw her best friend shrug towards Ginny, who seemed unappeased.

The day after, Thursday, not only brought the youngest accused, but also the biggest protests the trials had seen so far. Word had gotten out that Draco Malfoy, the youngest Death Eater in the Second Wizarding War, enabler of the murder of one Albus Dumbledore, was likely to be tried prudently. Protesters had made their way into the Ministry and the trial had to spontaneously be turned into a closed hearing. Hermione would later learn that the protests during that day would eventually turn into a riot in Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, with several hexed or jinxed.

As a result, Draco Malfoy didn’t enter a bustling courtroom but stepped on the dais in an eerily silent, expectant surroundings.

If this surprised him, he didn’t let it on. Hermione watched his slender figure on the way from the door to his seat. He had always been lean – ‘pointy’, as Harry would always say – but the weeks in prison had not been kind to him. His features were sunken in, the malnourishment obvious and yet another motivator for Hermione to deliver a convincing testimony. Malfoy looked tired. He showed the obvious signs of insomnia, with hands shaking, skin bordering on an unhealthy tone of grey, and bloodshot eyes. However, he also looked tired on another level. Just tired of this process.

Despite his physical degeneration, or because his slender frame stood in such a drastic contrast to it, Hermione couldn’t help but notice that he must have grown taller since they had been held captive at Malfoy Manor around Easter.

With his back to the crowd, the bulky security guard behind him seemed almost comically short, barely reaching up to Malfoy’s shoulders.

Similarly, as he sat down before the Wizengamot, Malfoy’s straight posture looked equally out of place and yet eerily fitting. His long legs seemed awkward in the small space he was given.

Malfoy didn’t speak during his trial, he just sat in his chair and stared in his lap as his legal defence attorney made one careful point after the other. The accusations – accessory to murder in at least thirty cases, terrorism, crimes against wizardry and humanity – washed over him and sparked little reaction.

He barely turned toward the witness stand, as Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini made statements, and he neither lifted his head during Professor McGonagall’s nor Harry’s testimonies.

Hermione heard Ginny hiss next to her when, after Harry’s empathetic and pleading statement, Malfoy still appeared to be unimpressed by the whole situation, his eyes trained on some point near his knees.

However, when taking a closer look, it was clear that it took Malfoy every fibre of his being to hold it together. His downcast gaze was not bored or aloof, he was staring down, probably occluding, hands constantly balled to fists with the knuckles standing out against his skin.

The next day was much of the same, with Professor Slughorn making a flimsy statement in the morning.

When her name was called out shortly after midday, Hermione took a deep breath before standing, Harry squeezing her right hand briefly. Her eyes were trained on the console where she was to testify, trying, and failing, to forget the stark contrast between bright, grey eyes and the bloodshot whites, trained on the floor.

Thus, she missed that the only time Malfoy briefly raised his head in surprise during his trial was when she walked past him.

**V**

His growth spurt between the Battle of Hogwarts and his trial made vulnerable situations with Draco Malfoy extremely awkward.

Hermione noticed this three years later, at a particularly poorly visited DMLE regulars’ table. They had been a small round tonight anyway, with a large number of aurors, including Harry, being dispatched to an emergency in Aberystwyth.

Terry Boot called it a night after the first round of butterbeers, clearly irritated by the only other two participants tonight. As a result, Hermione and Malfoy awkwardly shared an otherwise empty table until Hermione sighed and went to the bar to order another round.

Malfoy thanked her, his eyes glued to the stains and wood grain on the table. Hermione rolled her eyes. Malfoy had joined the department in the past autumn, too much scepticism in the public and Ministry alike, but his behaviour during his probation had been impeccable. From the moment he became an auror trainee, his record was spotless. Robards had mentioned more than once that he would allow him a shortened training period if it weren’t for the Mark on his arm. There were limits even to a Department Head’s power.

She sipped her butterbeer, eyeing him.

Malfoy wasn’t unfriendly towards her, but he had made much better amendments with Harry or Terry, or even Ginny at this point. With her, he seemed to distance himself more than necessary. He was going out of his way to be polite, but barely able to meet her eye when they spoke, which had been a nuisance when they were assigned together during Malfoy’s first field training. When she mentioned it to him, he had become eerily quiet, his gaze – as always – trained on some point behind her shoulder, assuring her that it was nothing personal and just his nerves.

Hermione’s thoughts lingered on this exchange, although it had been five months ago. She had never seen Malfoy so obviously nervous. It was this reaction that made her firmly believe his behaviour hat little to do with his or her blood and everything with her as a person. She just didn’t know what it was.

Malfoy was now sipping his second butterbeer gingerly. Half of his was finished and Hermione had only taken a few sips, so she hurried to follow suit, only to choke on some beer that had sneaked its way into her trachea as she rushed to drink.

Hermione coughed.

Malfoy chuckled.

The small sound from across the table made her look up in disbelief, still coughing lightly.

She must have looked menacingly because Malfoy’s hands quickly shot up in defence. His smile, to her surprise, remained. “Sorry. But the second you started downing that beer, I knew the choking was imminent.”

The next and final cough hid her surprise at his nonchalant small talk and Hermione was thankful for it. She looked up at Malfoy, who loomed over her even when seated. “And you didn’t think of warning me.”

“Granger.” Ah, the drawl. She only ever heard it when he joked with Harry and Terry, or anyone but herself. The tone that once made her shiver uncomfortably in the Hogwarts halls tickled a giddy curiosity in her these days. She itched to find out why he excluded her from it. “Why would I ever warn you when I could just sit here and enjoy watching you chug that beer – and fail?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t be angry with him. Not when he finally seemed at home in small talk territory. Not when the corners of his mouth were still pulled upward.

He finished his beer in an impressive performance of ‘elegant chugging’ which Hermione filed under yet another Malfoy-only specialty. Putting down his jug, he looked over at her, caution now dominating his features once more. Hermione looked at him questioningly for another second before he took a small breath and pointed at her beer. “Do you want another of these? Because I actually cannot stand the stuff and will order some good whiskey instead.” He paused for one second and then added, hurriedly, “If you want to stay. Feel free to leave.”

Now it was her turn to grin up at him. “It’s fine. I think I’ll stick to this one for now”, she pointed at her glass which was still half full.

At that, he seemed to relax visibly and got up to order.

Hermione’s gaze lazily followed him as he glided through the crowd. His bright, blond head towered over most of the other guests and was visible up until he stopped at the bar.

*

Two butterbeers and three whiskeys later, she returned from the bar with yet another butterbeer and a top-shelf whiskey for Malfoy, the snob, who had actually warmed up to her at long last over the past few drinks. She already thought about mentioning his behaviour another day, when they – hopefully – established some sort of routine with each other as she pushed his drink in front of him and dropped down on the seat across from him, head spinning slowly, in an unrushed pace.

She was just about to pick their conversation about the dominance of Veela traits in descendants back up when Malfoy’s gaze made lose track of her trail of thoughts. In her vision, only his grey eyes remained, as he intently stared at her from across the wooden table in the noisy Leaky.

The words were trapped somewhere in the same trachea where their evening had started. Hermione opened her mouth, instantly thought she must look like a goldfish and closed it again, now extremely self-conscious about her messy bun, the layer of sweat on her upper lip and her frantic gaze from Malfoy’s eyes to his frowning mouth.

For lack of a better word, he appeared _sad_ to Hermione. She tried to pinpoint where they had left off the conversation, looking for a clue where she had said something stupid. Slowly, she opened her mouth again.

Malfoy averted his eyes, dropping on his whiskey.

He sighed. “Thank you.”

Hermione stammered a reply, still wondering what had happened while she was gone. Her insecurity seemed to irritate Malfoy even more, he rubbed his eyes with both of his hands in a slow-motion and groaned almost inaudibly. He leaned back in his chair, his long legs carefully draped next to hers under the table, never quite touching. On various occasions that night, Hermione had heard a soft bump and had always assumed it must’ve been his one of knees that hit the table every time he shifted.

When he removed his hands from his face, Malfoy looked as shattered as he had before. It seemed so wrong on this man, always the epitome of composure and elegance. Even in the field, as a trainee, he appeared in control of every situation. On Thursdays, at the regulars’ table, he dominated the round merely by being such a stark contrast to the rest of them, with his bright hair, light skin, and impeccably straight posture.

Malfoy never sagged, not even after numerous whiskeys. He could raise his voice without automatically shouting as Harry did. He could direct his attention to someone by merely nodding briefly at them. His speech was always impeccable, whether he was stressed or tipsy. He never lost composure.

Yes, Hermione had paid attention to the enigma that was Draco Malfoy’s behaviour towards herself, and she had never seen him lose composure.

Hence, her breath stopped before speeding up excessively when he shifted forward, his elbows now resting on the table, and hid most of his face against his hands again. He was so tall; the table support automatically led him to cower slightly before her. Still, she had to look up to watch his emotions unfold before her.

Hunched Malfoy seemed so at odds with every observation Hermione had made over the past years. She briefly noticed how awkwardly unproportionate he seemed in comparison to the small table and the bench he sat on, but then Malfoy finally raised his voice again. All the effortless command it usually carried via ductus and volume, supported by the sheer size of his torso, had disappeared.

“Granger, how can you stand just sharing a table with me all evening?”

The question startled her so much, she just blinked rapidly at him, her pulse quickening. “I –”

He sighed and rubbed over his face with his hands once more before carefully placing them in front of his torso. His long fingers fiddled with a napkin on the table. His cheeks were flushed, and the corners of his mouth were facing downwards. The image reminded her of their Hogwarts days, but all animosity between them was gone. What remained was a healthy dose of anxiety after what had started as a civil evening.

He sighed again, still hunched in his seat. His eyes never left her face and Hermione struggled to meet his gaze, its intensity almost overwhelming her. The melancholy never left him.

“You testified at my trial – why?”

His voice was levelled, but not its usual nonchalant self – too quiet. Again, Hermione stumbled over his question. She knew the answer, didn’t she? She knew every answer to every question, and this one was so clear to her too. He was just a boy, not even of age. His family – his mother, especially – was in danger. He was – bully or not – just her classmate. He had looked so ridiculously skinny and unhealthy back in their sixth year, crying in the presence of a ghost living in a bathroom. He had stalled when they were captured and brought to the manor. He had not fought during the final battle. He had shown her every day since he had joined the department that the testimony was worth it.

And yet, the question stunned her.

He still sought her eyes with his. “What I want to say, Granger, is this. Whatever your reasoning, your testimony sealed my fate. You made it possible for me to join the auror squad. And I’m thankful.”

She furrowed her brows. “With all due respect, Malfoy, I really appreciate it. But Harry also –”

He interrupted her with a faint smile, but the sadness remained. “Potter has my thanks as well, rest assured. But _you_ – I couldn’t believe it when they said your name. With Potter, I had a ridiculous rivalry. You– you never harmed me, Granger”, his voice cracked. “I depreciated you whenever I could, just to make myself feel better.”

He finally tore his gaze away from her. He was obviously ashamed. Hermione couldn’t reply. Her face was hot, her eyes roaming from Malfoy’s face to his still fiddling hands. She watched as he drew another breath.

All the noise in the pub had numbed around her a long time ago.

“Granger – Hermione – I’m incredibly sorry for how I treated you throughout our years in school. You never gave me any reason to despise you, and yet I did, based on what I now know is a ridiculous notion.”

She watched in awe as he pressed his thin lips together, obviously struggling with the situation, the words, but most of all, with himself. “You are the most impressive person I know. And in retrospect, I knew it a long time ago, but I was so preoccupied with working towards all the wrong goals. Please forgive me. For all the pain I caused you.”

Hermione stared at Malfoy, who had sought her gaze once more at the last sentence but now turned it back to the table, intently staring at the woodwork.

Hermione blinked once, twice, and then the noise of the pub returned to her ears as she slowly rose to her feet.

Malfoy, the tall man across from her, shrunk in his seat. He expected her to leave. 

Instead, Hermione made her way to his side of the table and found an even stance in front of him. Despite being seated on a bench in a pub, Malfoy’s face was almost at the same height as hers, small as she was.

Without another word, she unceremoniously dropped next to him on the bench. He jumped slightly, but Hermione caught his long, lithe fingers in her own and pressed them slightly.

“I forgive you, Draco. I forgave you a long time ago.”

His shoulders sagged next to her. A small breath escaped him, and his lips finally curled upward in the most beautiful way once more. His chin trembled.

She sought his eyes – no longer the usual, composed grey now, but a softer, darker hue.

Her thumbs slowly, tentatively began to stroke the back of his hands in reassurance, but he didn’t move, his eyes still trained on her face so close to his own.

Hermione leaned in and kissed him.


	3. Hermione II

**VI**

Initially, work with Draco was even more awkward than before. For a few days, he would cast down his gaze whenever she walked past him. So one week later, Hermione made a point to squeeze in between Malfoy and Harry at the DMLE regulars’ table, smiling up at him.

Again, they stayed behind after everyone else had left. Again, they tentatively kissed at the end of the night.

From then on, he visibly relaxed around her, finally able to talk to her at work and even sending her the occasional owl in the evening when they hadn’t seen each other all day.

Three Thursdays and three regulars’ tables passed before Draco invited Hermione to his flat just off Diagon Alley in Muggle London for dinner on Saturday.

She watched his tall frame appreciatively as she sat at the kitchen island while he chopped basil leaves and cherry tomatoes.

She noticed his height again when he offered her wine after dinner and they sat down on the couch. Hermione was seated comfortably on the modern leather sofa, the broad seats allowed her to relax into the back of the couch as she sipped her wine, but her legs dangled gracelessly, just barely reaching the floor.

Draco sat next to her, talking about Blaise Zabini’s vineyard in Italy. Hermione observed him as he shifted his legs. While the left one was casually draped over the seat between them, the right leg was firmly positioned on the floor, his knee level with the foot of his other leg. She had to look up to see his face from her position next to him.

Hermione didn’t like others looming over her. She couldn’t shake off the feeling of intimidation or the incessant need to appear taller, and would often raise her voice to compensate, feeling small.

With Draco, it was different. Looking up at his face was void of all implications of looking up to him as a person. Simultaneously, him looking down to her bore no condescension, it evoked no pressure within her to prove her worth. Because he was already aware of it – it was apparent in the way he looked at her, and in his touch.

He was careful not to overstep her boundaries, yet assertive in every move, every kiss they shared. He paid attention to her and engaged in conversation in a way none of her other friends did. 

It wasn’t stilted or forced, time with him. Hermione felt a calm wash over her when she was in Draco’s presence, and when he looked at her she felt her breath catch and send nervous tingles go down her spine.

In a sense, Draco’s respectful worship of her body and mind empowered her.

Thus, her final assessment of Draco Malfoy’s tall, lithe body took place in his bedroom.

She was down to her bra and knickers (matching, thank Merlin) and watched him undress in a slight frenzy. He only took his intense, bright eyes off her to step out of his trousers, his button-down already forgotten somewhere in the living room. The bulge in his pants was prominent from her position.

Down to his boxer briefs, Draco joined her on the bed. Hermione rose to her elbows, watching him stroke her calves slowly. His gaze roamed over her body. He bent down to drop small kisses on her knees, slowly pushing them open, allowing him a new perspective as his gaze hovered over her knickers and what she was sure was a telling wet spot between her legs.

Draco smirked at her.

In one, swift motion, he moved up to her face, kissing her hungrily. Hermione responded with enthusiasm, her hands trailing over his muscled torso as she felt him pressed against her side. Effortlessly, his large hand lifted her lower back and buttocks and pulled down her knickers. She saw them fly through the room in the corner of her eye and tutted playfully.

Draco briefly rose to look her in the eyes, assessing her. He stroked her hair and cheek. “Is this okay for you?”

She nodded. “I want this, Draco.”

His smirk returned and he tackled her neck as his hands travelled from her neck to the underside of her breast and lower, to her navel. He hesitated briefly on her lower stomach, so Hermione wasted no time keening into his hand. Her hands found his face and she pulled him to her – eye to eye.

“I want you, Draco. Please.”

His gaze softened and he wasted no more time. Hermione felt one, then two fingers stroke her outer labia, testing. She shivered. A third finger stroked her slit before one of the three began experimenting with her clit.

Hermione moaned.

She was wet for him – had been since they were seated on the sofa. Draco hummed in appreciation when he dipped his finger deep inside her, stroking in slow, agonising circles. His other hand removed her bra.

Without stopping the slow circling, Draco moved to hover over her. She felt his erection pressed against her thigh. Hermione’s eyes had been closed as she breathed heavily, and when she opened them, she found Draco mesmerised by her dark nipples. Cocking her head at him, she found his gaze and smiled as Draco started sucking on her right nipple. Hermione moaned louder than she had before, arching her pelvis into Draco’s hand.

His movement stopped for a moment and just as Hermione was about to complain, he added a second finger and increased his speed. As she panted and mewled, he smirked at her before beginning to drop kisses down her stomach.

She could feel his hot breath as he neared the junction of her thighs

He paused when he hovered over her clit, briefly looking up to her. Hermione pushed herself up on her elbows again, watching him in return. Without allowing her body to do the motion, her pelvis slowly rolled up to meet Draco’s hand.

His eyebrows shot up in an amused surprise, but his eyes never left hers. “Do you want me to keep going?”

Hermione nodded, flushed. Some of her locks were sticking to her face but she didn’t trust one arm to support her whole weight, so she let them.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Hermione groaned in frustration, tilting her head back as Draco chuckled. “I’m still here, Malfoy, so one should assume I’m not wholly opposed to the undertaking”, she replied, her breathless and flushed state taking away from the attempt at banter.

“You’re right. You’re enduring the whole undertaking.”

She nodded impatiently at him. His fingers had never fully left her clit but had gone back to lazy stroking. Hermione huffed.

Draco, whose gaze had been fixated on his hand between her legs, slowly looked back up. “Yes?”

Hermione whimpered as he slowly added his first, then the second finger back into her waiting heat. Draco still looked at her expectantly as her pelvis rose once again. “Please Draco.”

Hermione wasn’t sure how much longer her arms would keep her up.

Then, Draco placed a deliberate kiss on her clit. Hermione collapsed under him, whimpering as her whole body keened. Her hands grasped the bedding beneath her, desperately holding on to something. His fingers picked up the pace as he sucked on her clit He stopped for a few moments, and then sucked more incessantly.

Hermione felt her inner walls clench around his fingers as she came, moaning Draco’s name and riding his tongue and fingers.

“Fuck, Granger”, he murmured into her and the air he breathed out only added to her orgasm. Again and again, she arched into him, her wetness coating his fingers and mouth as he kept sucking and she kept whimpering.

When the pulsing ceased, Draco’s lips moved from her clit to her inner thighs, breathlessly kissing every inch of her skin he could catch. He wiped the back of his hand over his lips and chin before dropping down next to her.

Idly, Hermione turned to face him, stroking his chest and abdomen. As she pulled on his waistband, Draco put a hand over hers.

“Look at me”, he said, breathlessly. “You don’t have to do this."

He tucked a curl behind her ear, and the look he gave her made Hermione blush. "This… this was already so much better than I expected.”

Hermione just raised her eyebrows, still too overwhelmed to talk. Instead, gripped his hard cock through his pants, rubbing her thighs together in the process. Draco huffed at her movement and Hermione grinned up at him. “I want this, Draco. I said so before and I stand by every word.”

He looked at her in wonder. “Granger. Are you completely sure? You don’t have to, I–”

Exasperated, Hermione slipped out of his arms and tackled his pants from above. After a quick shock and recovery, Draco watched in awe as Hermione positioned herself over him. The sight of his waiting cock made her inner walls clench in anticipation.

She eyed Draco, and with barely concealed lust he took his cock in his hand and stroked it up and down her cunt before placing it at her waiting entrance. The sight made Hermione moan. Draco’s left hand found her hip and steadied her as she slowly slid down his cock.

She had been anticipating that he would be bigger than average, with Draco’s height and all. But feeling him was completely different. She had never been stretched to this extent before.

Small moans left her, as she experimentally moved on top of Draco, slowly picking up the pace, adjusting to him. Both his hands were now set on her hips, caressing her hip bones and buttocks. With every stroke, she felt the movement of her backside against Draco’s pelvis.

Draco’s eyes roamed over her body in obvious disbelief and he moaned and groaned whenever she buried him inside herself.

Exhausted, she dropped to her forearms and placed a kiss on Draco’s panting mouth. He returned it happily and as he pulled away, he murmured, “May I?”

She nodded, unable to reply between her moans and heavy breaths, resting her head on his chest. Draco’s hands, still on her hips, effortlessly lifted her and let her slide down on his cock again.

Hermione moaned loudly into his chest and he cursed her name. Again and again, he lifted her, the different angle adding to Hermione’s awareness of how much of Draco was inside her.

“Oh god. Draco...ah.”

He panted beneath her as her hands roamed over him, exploring, her tongue finding his neck.

He moaned louder. “Fucking hell, Granger. Feels so good–”

Then, as she was just nibbling her way down to his collarbone, Hermione tensed. Her walls clenched around Draco and she looked up to him.

“Up”, he grunted. “I want to see you.”

She complied eagerly and sat up on his cock once more, instantly beginning to move him in and out in frantic bounces.

“Draco!”, she moaned. “Please, Draco, more!”

He moaned with her now, picking up the pace. The fingers of his right hand found her clit in between her movements.

“Draco!”, Hermione shouted at the intensity of his touch. “Please, faster!”

He obliged, his fingers rubbing faster and his pumping speeding up. Before long, she felt herself pulsating around him. Hermione stopped moving but Draco kept going at an unforgiving pace. Hermione’s walls didn’t stop clenching around him. With every moan of hers, Draco seemed to get faster, until she felt her whole body shake from the impact.

With a final moaned “Hermione, fuck!”, he emptied inside her and pulled her into his chest, holding her close.

“Gods”, he panted, still buried in her cunt.

She was too tired to reply, happy to just exist for the time being.

*

Their limbs were tangled when Hermione woke up the next morning. His forearm was wrapped around her chest and Hermione lifted it carefully to rise, with the firm intention to look for coffee and breakfast in the kitchen.

Tip-toeing out of his bedroom, Hermione collected his button-down from the sofa – her shirt was nowhere to be seen. Her arms disappeared in the sleeves like a child’s. Rolling her eyes, she rolled them up three times before she could use her hands like a normal person.

The hunt for coffee beans was a strenuous one. Wherever she looked, she couldn’t find them. At long last, Hermione hopped to open the cabinet in the top right corner, just out of her reach. There it sat – coffee.

Hermione groaned.

For Draco, this was probably just the right height to grab it sleepily in the morning.

“You’re too tall, Draco Malfoy!”, she shouted towards the bedroom.

She earned a low chuckle in return, which wouldn’t leave her head all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh yeah. I have attempted smut. Let me know if I succeeded?  
> I couldn't let this slide out into the world without some checks and balances, so a big thank you for your ever-great beta work,[simplifiedemotions](https://simplifiedemotions.tumblr.com/) (who is on AO3 under the same name)! Especially considering that this whole smut business was unchartered territory for me. Lol.


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